purrfect positioning
by squishysnake
Summary: An hour into MGS 5 and I was so irritated with Ocelot's tutorial attitude I became inspired. "Reow !" Big Boss/Venom Snake x Revolver Ocelot. gheeey! ongoing
1. Intro

inspiration is from your first visit to your base, MGS5.  
I have played 1-4, Peacewalker and now Phantom Pain, so character impressions are based on whatever I thought of while playing those games.  
seriously why is Ocelot now a sexy metro cowboy? smh  
if you like this, or this pairing, let me know because I like drawing, giggling, and wasting time on the internet. 

* * *

"You can close the iDroid now!"

Big Boss started, jerked out of his reverie by the loud and increasingly angry wishes of his companion. He grimaced and closed the app.

"I want to go over the Fulton recovery system."

Big Boss grunted, "I know that one."

"This is different."

"When did you turn into such a nag," he growled, dragging his eyes away from the sleepy sea and turning to the man beside him.

The ocean breeze was playing with his long, silvery blonde hair, tugging it out from behind his ears. Still obnoxiously tall, pale, and handsome, but with new lines around his tilted Eastern eyes. A budding moustache glinted on his upper lip under a long sharp nose. Revolver Ocelot.

The physical, however, was where the similarities ended. Ocelot had changed. To be honest, both of them had changed. For nine years he'd been a pin cushion doll in a hospital ward and this slippery bastard had been up to who knows what. He didn't feel like he really knew anyone anymore.

In the old days, perhaps Big Boss's accusation would have produced a hot headed response, but instead he just received 'the look'. The withering, maddeningly, patient look Ocelot had perfected to make it clear he was accustomed to dealing with idiots.

Big Boss sighed and eased himself back on the rusty rim of his makeshift barrel stool. The waves slapped lazily against the sides of the rig. On all sides the only break in the endless oily roil of blue were white caps or sea birds. A few such sea gulls were lined up on the railing, drowsing in the sun. Their shit decorated the helicopter landing bay like paint splatter.

It should have been peaceful. But it was too similar; it brought back memories of another base in the sea, another base that should have been safe. It kept him on edge like goose pimples that never settled, always reminding him of the reality of his situation. He scanned the sky wistfully, hoping for a glimpse of the approaching chopper. A mission to take him far away from here.

"You'll want to practice knocking soldiers out and attaching the Fulton," Ocelot was saying.

Boss perked up a little at this.

"Not me, Snake."

 _Disappointing._

"I'll round up a few volunteers."

"Come on, Ocelot," Big Boss made to stop him by reaching for the man's upper arm. "I'm pretty sure I can remember how to -"

Ocelot whirled as if attacked and struck his hand away, eyes furious. "Stop messing around."

There it was again, the peculiar overreaction.

Big Boss felt very much on the wrong foot. "Give me a break, I'm not trying to -"

"I don't have time for games, Snake. We need more men and we need you to get them."

 _Snake_. One of the few people who still called him Snake. Ocelot seemed to manage to load all his resentment into the word, as if he was disappointed that his hero, his idol, had let him down by needing rescuing. There was a conflicting desire in him, to want to be respected by this man, and for the man to be worthy of his past adoration. Take me seriously, _Snake_.

At the moment, Snake just wanted to hit him.

"I've still got it," he growled irritatedly. "Want to find out?"

Ocelot looked with clear disdain at his newly mechanical arm, "you even used that yet?"

"Yeah? Arm wrestle me!"

There was 'the look' again. Where had the rash, eccentric, show-off gone? When would he whip out the twin pistols? Spin them around his finger? Instead there was nothing, the slight curl of a lip, raised eyes like he'd rather be somewhere else. Perhaps it was true, perhaps in his current state, Snake - the Punished Venom Snake - could no longer hand Ocelot's ass to him. He sulked.

Ocelot was walking away. He still made an impressive figure, despite his flamboyant clothing choices. His pants were ironed to the crease, neatly tucked into knee-high cowboy boots, his favourite spurs jingling with every click of his heel.

 _Horses_. Maybe he could talk about horses without getting his head bitten off. Ocelot surely liked horses: he seemed determined to be mistaken for an extra in a Western. Snake shrugged it off. He wasn't accustomed to thinking too hard about people. If his best friend wanted him here then it was for a good reason. He told himself this, even while pointedly ignoring Miller's strange and vengefully motivated decision making, such as rebuilding an almost replica of 'Outer Haven'.

Ocelot was returning, dogged by two nervous looking recruits in salt-rimed fatigues.

Vaguely remembering his epiphany, the Big Boss ventured, "Riding, eh."

"What."

"Erm." Ocelot's eyebrows were dangerously contracted. "You do a lot of riding or ...? Just into that ... stuff?"

"Stuff?" Ocelot repeated sarcastically.

"Well you didn't - you didn't say anything so I don't know - some people are into that," he mumbled, fast getting out of his depth. He cleared his throat. "CQC?"

They weren't the person he wanted to be slamming to the floor, but they would do.


	2. Chapter 1

"Why did he have my file, Kaz?"

Miller didn't look up from his morning print outs and coffee. He was ready to fly out soon, his beret perched on his yellow hair and aviators sliding down his nose. Big Boss reached out to pluck at them, knowing it would annoy him.

"What? What? I don't know, he's authorised to isn't he? I could have your file what's the big deal," the blonde man waved his boss's hand away irritatedly. After a moment he softened. "You know we don't keep everything in it."

"Hrmph," grumped Snake.

"When are you two going to have it out?" Miller raised his mug for sip.

"I dunno. When you grow back an arm and a leg?"

"Funny."

Snake shifted uncomfortably. "He's pretty twitchy."

"Afraid you can't best him? That's not like you."

"No! Well ..." he looked down at his own handicap, his new arm, flexing the iron fingers experimentally. He would be lying if he hadn't wondered it.

"He's on our side, Boss. Just ask him why he's got it if you want to know. He'll give you a reason," Miller returned to his papers, cursing as he moved the wrong arm to pick up the pen. The stump lurched feebly beneath the cloth of his jacket.

Miller had his own problems. Feeling a little guilty, Big Boss took his leave.

In this city of stacked shipping containers floating on the ocean, there wasn't a lot of room for luxuries. Ben 'Kazuhira' Miller's office was also his room. The upper living quarters and the public waiting room were the only furnished places that you needed authority to be in, and like a cat on the prowl for the sunniest arm chair, Big Boss knew that's where Ocelot would be.

The photocopier was still whirring itself to sleep when Snake walked in. He stood stiffly, never sure whether verbal confrontation would escalate into physical, or if that's just what he would prefer.

"Got what you needed?" he said awkwardly, the rasp to his voice more pronounced than ever.

Ocelot looked around quickly from one of the desk rows. Behind him, a blank cork board hung on the wall, waiting for maps and missions to be pinned. Book shelves and filing cabinets leaned against the walls. Snake spotted Ocelot's heavy trench coat draped over the back of a chair. A leather satchel lay on the seat.

Ocelot's pale eyes darted to both doorways, where a soldier stood each, their backs to them, ready to challenge anyone who didn't look important enough to be there. He let a long breath out of that pointed nose of his.

"Nothing important," he said briskly. "Aren't you supposed to be securing the Russian spetsnaz officer?"

"The extraction chopper took fire. You don't remember?"

"Oh right. Well, if you'll excuse me-"

"What were you doing with my file, Ocelot?"

He received a calculating look, "looking over the hospital incident. Identification markers."

"Why?"

Ocelot spread his hands carelessly, still wearing the snug red leather gloves that matched his neck scarf. The silence yawned awkwardly between them.

"You don't think I was telling the truth?" Snake lurched into Ocelot's personal space, earning himself a reproving shove.

"Back off, _Snake_ , we're on the same side now - remember?" Ocelot was flushed with annoyance in the light of the oil reading lamp, pink splotches blossoming across his nose and cheek bones. "No need to get primitive."

"That's _Boss_ to you," Snake growled, taking another provocative step towards him. Something inside him was singing, urging him on. The constant overreactions and cold shouldering were reaching a head - the irritating asshole was here, right in front of him. And he practically had verbal permission to do as he liked. _Bit of an exaggeration! - Miller._

"Get out of my face," Ocelot snarled - quietly, so as not to attract attention - and retaliated with the series of short blows aimed at keeping him at arms length. Several connected with Snake's torso, reasonable thumps that knocked the breath out of him, but he refused to give ground, shoving in closer with his shoulder and grabbing for Ocelot's wrist with his good hand.

The Russian made a disgusted noise at the contact, jerking back and colliding with the parked chair. The satchel slid to the floor with a sad plop, regurgitating the sizeable stack of photocopies onto the carpet.

There was a moment's silence, the two of them poised like dancers, Snake's grip like iron on Ocelot's wrist, preventing him from tripping backwards over the desk. Their deep breathing was the loudest thing in the room.

"You - sick sonofabitc-" Snake aimed a blow at his head but Ocelot ducked, rolling to the floor amongst the black and white sea of paper and dragging Snake off balance. They wrestled furiously and oddly silently, only Ocelot snarling like the cornered cat that he was.

Big Boss wasn't yet back to his prime, he could feel it as he grappled with the taller, fresher opponent, struggling to keep him on his back. Ocelot squirmed and kneed upwards into Snake's groin, unleashing a healthy repertoire of swear words and, in a fit of rage, Snake grabbed his gun.

"Don't even think about it-" Ocelot dove for his own weapon, prevented from pulling it free by Snake's crushing weight on top of him. There was the muffled sound of suppressed tranq fire and Snake grunted in surprise. One of Ocelot's darts had lodged in the toe of his boot. He himself had fired off a few but his opponent was well awake and kicking.

"You think that'd work on me? I'm resistant to it, remember?" Ocelot spat, unloading an extra into the surprised Snake's chest. With that he planted his spurred boot into his ribs and flipped him off his body. The floor shook as he crashed into it, Snake's limp limbs unable to cushion his fall. "Pathetic."

On his hands and knees, blood trickling from his split lip, Revolver Ocelot scrambled to scoop up the photocopied images of Big Boss naked in his hospital bed. He only stopped to catch his breath once all of them were safely tucked away in the satchel. He rocked back on his heels, taking a deep breath and slicking the sweaty hair back from his forehead. His eyes flickered along Snake's prone body, who was not quite yet out and exercising his right to twitch.

Snake had changed. From a hero to villain, an apprentice to a master, an outcast, a survivor. The flesh had piled back on since his rescue, muscles once again rippling under the scarred skin. His brown hair was streaked liberally with grey, his beard now salt and peppered with stress and age. His nose had been broken and reset. Scars tracked their way across his face, zigzagging into the hairline above his ears. Dark, handsome, bold, masculine. Even in sleep he fought fiercely, the one eye he had left was twitching under its lid.

Those pictures would never compare to the real thing.

Ocelot reached out gently, but, overridden by intoxicating thoughts of possession, ended up grasping Snake roughly by the chin, twisting his head up to look at him. It was a hot and exciting feeling. There was noone else here, he could do anything he wanted. His eyes narrowed as he considered the possibilities, as, almost absent-mindedly, his free hand strayed to his crotch which was suddenly full and uncomfortable. His breath hitched, but his face creased into a scowl. He couldn't look at Snake without feeling angry. The desire to be close, to be cosseted by Snake, to impress him as an equal, and the reality that he felt inferior and belittled by him. They warred viciously.

He released his grip on Snake's jaw, his head lolling back to the carpet, before pushing the unconscious man onto his back. Still breathing shallowly, Ocelot straddled him, drinking in the size comparison of them, the expanse of his torso, the smell of cigar smoke on his desert fatigues. In a sudden spasm of decision Ocelot grabbed Snake by the hair, fingers deep in the roots of his pony-tail, and pressed his lips to those beneath him.

The reaction was instantaneous, a fist blow to the side of his head which took him completely by surprise. He slammed into the floor, stunned, his silver hair a halo.

"Yeah, that'sss right you little sih ... shit," Snake slurred as he dragged himself to his knees, shaking his head to clear it like a dog. "I'm resistant to that too ... got enough pointy sih, shit, in my chest, already. Get it." With a grunt he settled himself over Ocelot, pinning his arms and waiting patiently for Ocelot's dazed eyes to focus on him.

Ocelot groaned and tried to rise, but his head spun dizzily. So he remained there, glaring up at the man who had turned the tables on him.

"Hey kitty cat," rasped Snake groggily.

Ocelot spat at him.

"Eurgh. What were you planning to do to your, your poor old, defenceless boss, huh?" it was an effort to talk. His blood was up and his enemy was down. "Slimy ... thing... to do."

For Ocelot, he felt a surge of fear. He didn't like being crushed into the carpet. He had been enjoying his power trip. He redoubled his efforts to get away.

"Shhshh shh," Snake forced him down. There was a touch of amusement in his voice. He had assumed the photos were for enemy intel, a perfect map of his identifying scars and features, or perhaps as a sell off to decrease morale. Not because the man was gay. It didn't occur to him that the pattern behind Ocelot's behaviour toward him could also be because of this, and his anger at that pretty, pointy face of his remained. "You want this, yeah?" He ground his crotch into Ocelot's, earning a furious hiss. The Russian's eyes sparked. Dangerous, excited, daring, enraged.

 _How dare he submit in this way?_

Snake was enjoying it, he had wanted this primal struggle for power between them for a month, it was a relief, to pit strength against strength, to work out his frustrations and desire for revenge. If Ocelot had ceased to stop struggling, if he had been a willing recipient of Snake's attentions, it would never have got so far. But such as it was, it had been Big Boss's power that drew him, and Ocelot fought naturally against it, biting and clawing as Snake rubbed their groins together.

Ocelot was painfully aroused. He clenched his teeth together to stop the small whimpers and moans leaking out. As Snake leaned in, curiously attracted to the smooth, heaving chest laid bare by Ocelot's deliberately low buttoned shirt, he could smell his cologne. Whatever it was, it smelt good, and he buried his nose in Ocelot's neck. It was too much for Ocelot to contain, who finally let out a high pitched, frantic noise at odds with the furious expression on his face. It roused Snake from his daze, who sat up.

"I'll be taking those," Snake muttered, no longer able to look Ocelot in the face. He felt exhausted, the triumph was over. As he climbed off the other man's body, Ocelot too came to his senses and lashed out, shoving Snake away from him. Without another word he was up and gone, yanking his trench coat over his arms.

The only visible evidence of the struggle were several humps in the unglued carpet, the fallen chair and the desk which had been pushed several feet across the floor. Beneath Snake's shirt the scratches he'd earned began to sting, the adrenaline had worn off.

There was only one thing left to do. The satchel and Snake parted ways, the former being unceremoniously flung over the railing and into the ocean.


	3. Chapter 2

(Note: short boring one sorry, it's build up)

If Snake had thought confronting him would make him feel better in the long run - he was wrong. Ocelot's appearance just irritated him in slightly different ways. The first being because it meant he had to keep what he'd learned from Miller. The second because he smelt really great.

There were no women on the base, something Miller lamented quite often. The only woman Snake was ever heard to mention these days was The Boss, usually to correct the various rumours floating around, and always with pain and sadness. Cheeky magazine pages would decorate the lockers and wilt in the steam of the shower, but that was as close as most of them came to a heterosexual relationship out here in the sea.

Only in the rare downtime of Big Boss did it ever bother him. And the freshest memory of perfume and soft skin and sweat would return to him. He gnawed frustratedly at his cigar.

"Something up?"

Miller had his feet up in front of a burning drum, still in his handsome gold button uniform and beret from the day's events. The flames flickered in the reflection of his dark sunnies.

Snake blew a smoke ring at him. "Was about to ask you that, Kaz. Sunglasses at night?"

Miller chuckled. "That's how you know nothing's wrong."

Snake could use a pair, as his gaze drifted yet again to Ocelot standing outside the mess hall - and he'd rather everybody not know about it. The long-sleeved shirt was undone at the top, baring that flash of smooth skin. Evidently he wore the scarf for fashion, not practicality. Silky long hair, snug waisted pants, long legs. He wanted to be looked at. The thought almost lifted the corners of Snake's mouth as he remembered Ocelot as a young man back in Russia. The self importance, the jaunty hand movements - he wanted to be the centre of attention always.

He thought about how close they'd been in proximity, so many times, and yet he'd never been close enough to smell him. Or had he just not thought about it?

Snake sighed and ran a hand through his grizzled hair. Ocelot caught him looking at him out of the corner of his narrowed eyes and there was a brief connection. For the first time, it was Ocelot who looked away first, looking pissed off about something. Snake's scars itched. He wanted something to do, some direction, an escape.

He knew he would like to fight with Ocelot again.

He made his excuses to Kaz and stood up, but as he scanned the decks he saw his quarry had disappeared. Frowning, he pushed through a handful of nervous recruits ("B-Boss!") and strode to the entrance of the outer walkway. Ocelot was far ahead, looking back with those slanted eyes of his. Upon spotting Snake, again he simply walked away.

 _A game!_ This was interesting. Snake stretched his legs, almost hurrying as he followed, his good hand trailing along the railing as the sea roared and spat. He heard a cry go up as a large wave broke the level of the rig and sprayed salt water over Miller and his brazier.

As he turned the corner he caught sight of Ocelot again, this time standing in front of the stairwell leading to the dorms. The wind lashed at him, whipping his scarf across his face.

"Ocelot!" Snake called in annoyance. He wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but felt he was the butt of it. Grumbling to himself he grabbed the stair rail and hauled himself up two at a time.

The Russian man was leaning slightly against one of the doors, his face was wet with sea-spray and slightly pink with exposure.

Already Snake could imagine grappling with him, straining to pin him against the wall, the fury and exhilaration as his body sought to trap and stifle the other. He imagined ripping the ammunition belt away, pinning his hands above his head, kicking the spurred boots apart -

Ocelot slipped inside and shut the door in his face.

Snake was left out of breath, extremely piqued, and with a confused semi.

He had made up his mind to trap him somewhere in the next few days but the situation never presented itself. He was left to stare at the Russian in meetings as he flicked his pen around in those long, gloved fingers, or idly scratched his growing stubble. No matter what he was doing it was fascinating. When Ocelot looked at someone it was with intensity, all concentration. His brows would crease together a little, his grey eyes a bit narrower. Sometimes he would nod his head.

The few words that had been spoken between them were when Ocelot exclaimed in disgust at the stench of his several day old bloodied clothes and threw a bucket of water at him. Oh, and being told to sod off when calling him repeatedly for his opinion when using the binoculars on people's butts. He busied his thoughts with his work. He visited the troops, he organised the R&D team, he inspected the warehouses, he refreshed the mission page on his iDroid repeatedly. He even called in to see if he could be put through to his horse, and was rudely hung up on.

Mostly, he watched the sky. When he climbed into that helicopter, when he slid the door and slammed it shut, he felt like he was finally able to breathe again. He didn't have to think about anything anymore, except the mission.

The only thing he couldn't escape from was the dull ache in his left hand, but whenever he went to rub it, he felt only hard metal beneath his fingers. Like many things in his life that had been dear to him, his left arm was long gone, yet he still had to deal with the pain every day.


	4. Chapter 3

review = sex scene in next chapter

do it.

* * *

"Surprise!"

Big Boss looked up briefly. Miller swept aside a couple of girly magazines and clunked two whiskey glasses and a decanter on the coffee table.

"Not really in the mood, Kaz," he grunted.

"Not that - look!"

He looked. "Oh!"

"See? Weapons development has your sniper rifle ready," Miller grinned and flopped onto the ratty sofa beside him.

Snake felt a foolish smile creep across his face. Kaz always knew how to put him in a good mood. His energetic enthusiasm was infectious.

"Told ya Boss, this place is really shaping up," Miller clapped him on the shoulder.

Snake pretended to recoil from his whiskey breath, rasping out an offended: "you started without me!"

Miller shrugged, laughing. "You're a lightweight, I needed a head-start."

"Right," Snake snorted. "Give me that. And a light."

He listened to his old friend talk as he poured and puffed contently. Soon all memories of Kaz bagged and tagged in the desert were temporarily replaced by happier times, viewed through the warm fuzz of alcohol. Guns, feet and beret on the table, they reminisced until Miller's head drooped onto Snake's shoulder, dozing in cosy comradery.

"Did you ever ... did you ever see her again?" Miller slurred.

"Who." Snake grunted.

"You know the one ... the - the dark one!"

"Going to have to be more specific Kaz," was the amused reply.

"She was a fox!- oh look, just in time! Hey!" Miller broke off his tipsy interrogation and waved his hand at who had just walked through the meeting room door. The person stiffened awkwardly for some reason. "Ocelot! Bring us that bottle, will you?"

"I think you've had enough, Kaz," Snake repressed a chuckle.

Miller had slipped onto his lap, his glasses askew in his slicked back blonde hair. "Lightweight," he mumbled, voice muffled by Snake's trouser leg.

"Ocelot, do us a favour would you and help me get him up?" asked Snake.

Ocelot gave him a scalding look in the midst of shaking rain drops off his leather trench coat. It pierced Snake's tipsy fuzz. _Not this again_.

"Not great out there," was all Ocelot said.

"You're no fun. Just leave me here with the bottle," Miller complained, patting the couch. "It's fine."

"Can't have recruits seeing you like that," said Snake, shifting his weight gently out from underneath his friend.

"No no, pillow has to stay," Miller seized him by the leg.

"If you're not going to help, at least bring his crutches," Snake muttered to Ocelot as he prised Miller's grip from his thigh and hoisted him to his feet. "Lean on me Kaz. There you go."

"Ugh," was Miller's only response.

Ocelot donned his coat again, turned up his collar, and the three of them traipsed out into the rain. Rough waves were slamming into the side of the base, spewing foam over the concrete. Snake wrapped his arm around Miller's waist and led the slow shuffle to the next wing, heads bowed against the wind.

"Card key?" Ocelot sounded bored.

"Breast pocket," Snake grunted.

"Well. So long fellas," Miller's weight was transferred to the doorway and he reluctantly hopped to receive his crutches. "Can't tempt you with another?"

Snake gave him a friendly pat. "Next time, Kaz."

"No goodnight kiss?" he made a puckered up face.

"Mwah," Snake snorted, "get out of here."

He heard Miller snicker as he swung the door shut. With raised eyebrows Snake turned to automatically share his amused expression with the person next to him and was met with the same furious stare he had been subjected to earlier. Ocelot's cheeks were flushed above the scarf he was using to protect his face from the cold corridor.

"Give me a break," Snake shoved him out of the way in irritation. He was sobering up, and it wasn't pleasant.

"Not your first rodeo, huh Snake?" replied Ocelot, his eyes glittering strangely.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Snake growled.

The Russian didn't reply. Merely gave him 'the look' as he stalked past, brushing imaginary lint from his jacket.

"Hey," Snake seized him by the elbow, which responded in the predicted flurry of blows and the two of them slamming shoulder first into the wall. "What's your game, Ocelot?" He would have preferred to look down on him, intimidate him, but Ocelot was just too tall.

The latter tugged his scarf down, allowing himself to recover his breath more easily. "Miller."

Snake tried to shake him, one hand bunched in the fabric of his shirt, but Ocelot resisted.

"Get your hands off me, Snake."

"What are you talking about then?" he grated angrily.

"You and Miller."

Snake was at sea, literally and metaphorically. He stared at Ocelot's face, watching the colour rise, dark pink blossoming across those high cheek bones. He seemed dually furious and embarrassed. And then it clicked.

Snake let out a breath of air, a humourless laugh. "So ... so that's it."

Ocelot merely looked angrily uncomfortable. Snake yanked him forward by the collar, pulling him off balance, and spinning him so his back was to the wall. Realising what was happening Ocelot fought back, pushing against him and raking his boot down Snake's shin. He cursed, driving a knee between Ocelot's legs in an attempt to pin him but he was two quick for him. They whirled about again. Ocelot's free hand was grasping for his face, trying to push his head away, but finally Snake's shorter size came in handy. He slipped under it, ramming into the taller man's chest and driving him back against the opposite wall. There they leered at each other for a few seconds, heaving heavy clouds of condensation into the air.

"Snake," said Ocelot sardonically.

"Bit late for formalities," was the answering growl. "Why do you run from me, Ocelot? Tell me."

"Heh," Ocelot snorted. "Give it up, I haven't got time for this."

Snake's frustration was mounting. The silvery blonde smiled at this, letting his head tilt back against the wall. Those slanted cat eyes were almost laughing at him. Teasing him. Snake released his hold on the cloth and slipped his hand inside the trench-coat, getting a rough grip on the other man's waist.

"Hands off, Snake," Ocelot immediately snapped.

"Be quiet," Snake commanded in his gravelliest voice, and let his grip drop, thumbing the belt, reaching for the curve of Ocelot's ass. He almost laughed as Ocelot bared his teeth in a snarl. "Now. Go on then, _Ocelot_. Tell me you don't want it."

Ocelot made to respond furiously but stopped at the look on Snake's face. He took a deep breath, biting back everything he wanted to say, brow furrowed. He continued to squirm a little under Snake's hold. Both resistant and willing.

"Tell me!" Snake barked, "tell me you don't!"

But there was silence. Broken only by their heavy breathing and the crash of the sea, the splatter of rain on the building's overhang. It was hard to tell who moved first, but they came together with crushing force, lips together in hard, needy clashes that almost resembled kisses. Snake had pulled Ocelot's hips against his and rubbed them together, breaking apart only to surface for air. Ocelot's mouth was left red and bruised. Still he protested silently against Snake's pawing, coy deflections of hands and elusive wriggling. Snake found it maddening - and addictive. He'd found out how to pause it, by pressing his lips against the writhing man's neck, palming his crotch with his hand, eliciting small, involuntary noises and weakening his struggle.

They both froze as a new noise penetrated their world. The sound of heavy boots on metal. Snake looked over his shoulder to see the wavering yellow disc of a flashlight, sweeping back and forth as one of the soldiers made his rounds.

"Ugh. Come on." Snake grabbed his prey by the shirt and dragged him forward, stumbling over each other's legs until Ocelot consented to the journey. They hurried down the corridor and peered out into the rain. With another grunt of annoyance, Snake turned again, heading for a bunch of stacked shipping crates, waiting patiently to be unpacked.

"What are you doing ..." Ocelot didn't sound amused.

"Come here," was the impatient reply. Snake whipped out a flat, compacted slab of cardboard.

"Oh jesus, you can't be seri-"

"Quiet!" Snake hissed. "I have 4 out of 5 of these left now, no thanks to you!"

"Why were you messing around in one then?!" Ocelot retorted.

"You told me they'd finished researching them! I wanted to try it out! I wanted to show you!"

"Oh my god-"

"And you kicked it! You destroyed it!" Snake whispered furiously, yanking him by the scarf so hard it came off.

Ocelot raised his eyebrow.

"You sick fuck," finished Snake.

 _"Is someone there?"_ a voice called into the sheets of rain and sea spray. The torch flashed past.

Snake flapped the cardboard box into shape and dragged Ocelot beneath it with him, where they crouched together in the stuffy darkness. Ocelot started to say something and Snake stuffed the scarf in his mouth. They waited tensely. Seconds dragged by as they felt, or rather sensed, the confused soldier's presence. The footsteps slowed, the torchlight touched the box, and then moved away.

 _"Must've been my imagination,"_ the man muttered.


End file.
